


click

by reginleit



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reginleit/pseuds/reginleit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>captain america can't always be so positive. it's hard to be the hero. he's bitter, he's angry, but he can't let it out like he wants to. because he's not captain america all the time. sometimes he's just steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	click

i.

there was no slow drift into consciousness each morning when he woke. there was no prelude. one moment he was closing his eyes in the darkness and then next, his eyes were just open as sunlight streamed in. maybe it was an aftereffect of the ice, but that was how he woke each morning. he never dreamed either. it was just the inky darkness of sleep. he didn’t dream of brooklyn, he didn’t dream of germany, he didn’t dream about anyone, he just didn’t dream. he had considered asking whether or not something was wrong with him before shrugging it off. there was a lot of things wrong with him, one of the most prominent being that he was pretty spry for a ninety year old.

ii.

his fist connected with the side of the bag, sending it swinging away only to slam his other fist into it as soon as the bag came back. sweat beaded on his forehead and neck but he continued laying into the bag. each time that he threw his fist into the leather, he put more force behind the hit. in the beginning, when he had first woken up, he started getting flashbacks to the forties. bucky, peggy, erskine. they all inhabited his brain, beating at the sides of his conscience and at his anguish until he had pushed it back. he had pushed back at them, had let them drive him crazy until he had been forced to push them back for what it had been doing to him. he had let them torment him because it was the only time he could see them. his memories were what he had left.

iii.

strangers. that’s what they were. strangers. there’s fire in his blue eyes as the arrogant stark swaggers around like he owns the place. his fists ball and for a moment, he almost give into the urge to hit him. not that anyone would ever expect him to do so. his tongue presses against the front of his teeth to stop a smart ass retort to stark. when he had first me the man, there had been a few traits that had reminded him of bucky. easy grin, the air of confidence and the glint of amusement in those eyes but as he had gotten to know stark, he knew that he wasn’t like bucky at all. no one was like bucky. at least, not to him.

iv.

disbelief soars through him, a disbelief so strong that it stops any movement in his body. it stops the anguish in its track, but not for long. the creature in front of him couldn’t be bucky. it wouldn’t be bucky. he had bucky’s face but there was no light in that face, just a pair of empty eyes framed by scraggly dark hair. “bucky.” the name slipped out through his lips in a harsh snarl but the man didn’t respond, simply blinked at him. “bucky.” the name left his mouth louder and he took a step forward but stumbled back, barely avoiding the knife meant for his heart. instead, it was embedded in his shoulder, thrown by a man who had ‘died’ on a train in the forties. who had died when he failed to save him. was this his penance? 

v.

he threw himself into vices, vices that would shame him. it shamed coulson. his hair had grown shaggy, dropping into his eyes. his knuckles bled from smashing them against the wall. a bottle of half full liquor was on its side in the corner. fury had taken one look at him, an unreadable glint in his eyes before he had left. the wound in his shoulder had healed a while ago but it still ached. it always ached now. he wanted to sink further into the abyss but he couldn’t. a laugh escaped him, raspy. he was supposed to be captain america. the noble captain america. put the people before himself. and he had. he always had.

he pushed himself to his feet and opened the door to his room, peering outside blearily. dark eyes met his as he glanced at a woman. she had hellfire eyes. she just kept looking, sizing him up until he was the one who looked away and went back to his room.

vi.

he’d been awake for one year. it’s nothing to celebrate. 

vii.

peggy had died two months ago and he had only seen her once. he had looked at her and she had looked at him. he had said nothing.

viii.

he dived toward a woman, curling her under his body as he brought his shield up to stop a blast from an exploding car. frightened eyes met blue ones, and the fright shifts to admiration. he feels bashful and awkward. even in the future, he was never comfortable with people adoring him. he wasn’t in it to be in the limelight. he was just there to protect them. a flash of red hair had him rolling off the woman, grabbing her arm and pulling her to her feet as he pushed her in the direction of safety before returning to natasha.

"my hero." was her snort.

"i’ll sign your trading cards later." was his reply.

**Author's Note:**

> idk man, just drabbling.


End file.
